


Breña

by MarcelWorldsmith



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal - Fandom, Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: AU, AU Medieval, F/F, Hannigramreversebang, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, So much internal monologuing, fic art, forest romping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 09:01:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19971439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcelWorldsmith/pseuds/MarcelWorldsmith
Summary: “Many generations ago, eleven clans banded together and dared to call themselves a kingdom. Their union was envied at first, then contested. Smaller conflicts became larger as the kingdom grew in strength. Each we survived. That same strength saw us through the harshest period of bloodshed in our history. Tonight we remember those who gave everything so that others may flourish. Hail the victorious dead!”





	Breña

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to the fabulous Lunastories for her awesome artwork, Sympathy for the Devil. They are a stellar human being! Link to their [tumblr](https://lunastories.tumblr.com/) and to the [art masterpost](https://lunastories.tumblr.com/post/186531430532/hannigram-reverse-bang-2019-art-masterpost-so). 
> 
> Thank you to my amazing beta-you know who you are.

My reflection  
Wraps and pulls me under  
Healing waters to be  
Bathed in Brena

Guides me  
Safely in  
Worlds I've never been to  
Heal me  
Heal me  
My dear Brena

So vulnerable  
It's alright

Heal me  
Heal me  
My dear Brena

Show me lonely and  
Show me openings  
To lead me closer to you  
My dear Brena

Vulnerable  
It's alright

Opening to  
Heal  
Opening to  
Heal  
Heal

-Breña, A Perfect Circle. 

Chairs and benches scraped back as countrymen stood to join their king, wine goblets and beer mugs raised.

“Many generations ago, eleven clans banded together and dared to call themselves a kingdom. Their union was envied at first, then contested. Smaller conflicts became larger as the kingdom grew in strength. Each we survived. That same strength saw us through the harshest period of bloodshed in our history. Tonight we remember those who gave everything so that others may flourish. Hail the victorious dead!”

“Hail!” Will added his voice to the countless others raising their cups and drinking deep. The word resonated longer and deeper than the previous year, owing to the growing number of boys now graduating to manhood.

Like him.

Like his king.

Wood scraped on stone again as everyone sat, turning to their tables and their food.

~~~~

Out of the Four Festivals, Ostara was Will’s favorite. While the celebrations included large feasts, they were more muted than those of Litha or Yule, like everyone was holding their breath for the beginning of spring. The air always seemed fresher, the fragrance of new blossoms heralding the coming of warmer days. Ostara coincided with the ending of the ten year war, the memory of those who died five years ago still fresh enough to sting. The celebration of spring juxtaposed with the mourning of those past. Mostly, Will enjoyed the fact that the contradictory mood occupied others’ thoughts long enough that they paid him no mind. Well, less than usual.

“You do spoil that boy, Sire, I have never seen a page in such fine clothing.” Beyond a tightening in his jaw, Will didn’t acknowledge he was being spoken about, keeping his head bowed.

“It is far easier to gain loyalty among servants if one does not mistreat them, Frederick, and Will is nearly is in his twenty-first year, hardly a boy.” Will did look up at this, seeing the golden head of the king turned towards Lord Chilton. The man fancied himself a learned fellow, capable of healing minds. He had a number of men locked away in his personal “hospital” wing of the castle dungeon.

Will knew from experience the expression the king would wear in conversations like these, corners of his mouth upturned in slight amusement.

“I agree. Besides, it is part of our duty to look after those under us,” Lady Bloom said, her cheeks already wine-red. Even inebriated, she was crusader for those without power. Will liked her immensely, but could not stop the stab of jealousy that came every time he saw her face. Jealousy over not being able to kiss her himself, or over her possibly spending secret nights with the king, he could not tell. Will pushed the train of thought to the back of his mind; this was not the time.

“Oh yes, especially if those under is had such handsome faces,” Lord Chilton narrowed his eyes at Will. Lady Bloom glared at him, and Chilton cowed.

Will shifted his eyes over the king’s table, pretending not to eavesdrop on the frankly mundane conversations of the highborn lords and ladies. He took in the rumpled and slightly worn look of Lord Chilton’s page, Matthew, seated behind and to the side of his charge much the same way Will sat behind the king. Will would equate Matthew to a strong terrier dog, eyes eagerly searching for the next hare to chase or child to bite. Will was more than aware that Matthew was in fact being exploited by the Lord. The thought made his stomach churn.

“Right you are Alana. Lest we forget, it is the people that hold the power to crown a king or see him executed. Treating servants with respect would hopefully reduce my chances of being assassinated in my sleep,” despite the amused tone, Will couldn’t help starting at the king’s words, his lips parting in shock even at the thought of hurting the man he served. General Jack Crawford also stiffened where he sat, something the king did not miss. “I trust you Jack, and I therefore trust Will. He has been nothing but loyal to me these last two years since you brought him into my service. He has wise words for me whenever I am troubled, he is a great asset,” Will flushed, dropping his gaze.

The general gave a curt nod, his fears soothed. “I would hope so. It is rare to find a common man that does not need to be taught to read.”

“Or one that can sing,” the king quipped lightly, “I am glad you did not keep him for yourself.”

Will lifted his head to meet Crawford’s eyes in mutual agreement. Neither of them would speak a word about Will’s past, lest he be killed for being born.

~~~~

The large wooden doors of the great hall were left open to the cool and fragrant night air, servants bustling past standing guards to refill cups and plates. Hannibal watched their comings and goings easily from where he sat at the head of the king’s table. He was therefore the first to see the head of the guard lead two soldiers bracing a struggling woman between them.

Hannibal stood, and silence descended.

“I apologize for the interruption Sire, but we caught her practically hanging off the gates, begging to be let in,” Captain Dimmond at least sounded remorseful. Hannibal knew the man was more mischief than anything else.

“And this could not wait?” he kept his voice level. It would not do to have words with his men in front of all the highborn of the country.

“Sire, it is best you see for yourself who she is.”

Hannibal had to admit that the captain knew him well enough to play on his curiosity. Hannibal rounded the table to look at the woman, Will following him like a shadow. The guards dropped her to her knees and lifted her head for him to see. Will gave a small gasp behind him and a murmur ran around the room. There, on the left breast of her filthy coat was the dancing pig, the Verger coat of arms.

“It is either great bravery or great stupidity that drives a Verger into the city of Chesapeake. Which one is it, Margot?” Hannibal could not help but leach ice into his voice. He should command her to be executed, or imprisoned at the very least.

Margot did not answer, trembling as though she were caught in a snow storm.

“Neither,” the voice was not Margot’s, coming instead softly from behind him. Hannibal turned to see Will trembling nearly as much as the woman he was staring at, hands curled into fists.

“Will?”

“It was fear. Please, don’t let the men touch her,” Will turned his eyes to Hannibal, silently pleading. The king had seen him do this before, climb into another person and become them so completely, it took him days to find himself again. “Can’t you see she terrified of them?”

“He’s going to kill me,” Margot found her voice, though she spoke low and rough, “I am with child, I didn’t know where else to go.” Tears streamed down her face.

This needed a careful hand. The Verger princess was a powerful political bargaining piece, Hannibal would like to keep her close. Imprisoning her could be the last straw leading to open warfare with the Vergers yet again, relations being as strained as they are, this time with less sympathy from his people. They would say he wanted another war. Mercy, on the other hand, would ingratiate Margot to him and his people would stand by him for his decision.

“Lady Bedelia, do you have a handmaiden to spare? Lady Alana, perhaps some clean clothes?” Hannibal called over his shoulder, watching Margot sag with relief, “I would like to extend our hospitality to Princess Verger.”

~~~~

Hannibal placed his crown on the dresser in front of the mirror, its intricate golden wings fluttering from the back to meet delicate antlers at its front. He ran his fingers over the metal as it glinted in the firelight. The feast ended so late it might as well be early and he had had far too much wine.

“Thank you for the fire, Will,” despite servants having the evenings of the Four Festivals to themselves, Will always ensured the king would sleep warmly. He had never taken a day in the two years since his service to Hannibal began.

“I feel that it is I who should thank you this time,” the man said softly behind him.

“Oh?”

“I asked you to spare the life of your enemy.”

Hannibal turned to face Will standing with his back to the fire, “I would have spared her life for political reasons, you know this, but thanks to you I could do it without damaging the relationships Princess Verger might build with our people.” Hannibal moved closer to Will as he spoke, coming to a halt in front of him. “I wish you would speak more during council meetings Will, you have great wisdom to offer.”

Will dropped his head even more, soft curls bouncing on his head. “I fear your council would mock a commoner who dares to speak in their midst.”

“Their loss. I am none the less grateful I have opportunity to speak my mind to you in private,” the wine was partially to blame for what he said, but Hannibal had meant what he said to Crawford at dinner. He had long ago stopped thinking of Will as merely a page; the man was becoming his confidant despite his own reluctance to share much of himself. Hannibal did not begrudge him this, he knew anything Will said was flung around in the shadows by gossips. Hannibal had initially chosen him above others as a page for his aesthetics. Will was a quiet, blue-eyed beauty who just so happened to know how to read. He had blossomed wonderfully from a lanky youth into the beginnings of a man, even sprouting an impressive dark beard. Will’s intelligent and stimulating conversational skills had been a pleasant surprise. Perhaps it was their similar ages and similar childhood experiences that allowed them to speak so freely. Both lost their fathers to war and Hannibal was only a handful of years older than Will.

“Would you fill the bath, Will?”

~~~~

Despite his best efforts, Will was falling victim to the same sentimentality that always seemed to affect other people on evenings such as these. He couldn’t help but think back to the few years he spent in Jack’s service. The General had passed Will on as page to the king when his wife had fallen ill, retiring to a small house in the city to look after her. Will had expected to do the same for Hannibal as he had for Jack: sorting mail, cleaning his chamber, boring things. Instead Will had found himself helping the king prepare his own lavish meals, choosing which pencil would work best for his current sketch, oddly specific things. He didn’t even write letters like he used to, the king used him as a sounding board instead, reading his eloquently written conversations aloud for Will’s opinion. Their late night talking over grammar slowly evolved into debates about music, then discussions over council meetings, finally taking a turn for the personal. Will had managed not to let any of his secrets loose, choosing instead to focus on what bothered Hannibal so that no attention was given to him. Will was sure they could talk about anything so long as the discussion remained polite.

Will fell back further into the past. The water tumbling from the tap was instead the small stream running down the hill past Wolf Trap. The large bronze bath was the lake where he would play, dreaming of the day he could get on one of the small boats to catch fish. The fragrant herbs he added to the steaming water was the lush forest surrounding the estate and those goddamn antlers on Hannibal’s crown reminded him so much of his father.

“Will? Will, can you hear me?”

Will shook his head, rushing to shut off the water before that bath overflowed. “I’m so sorry.”

“There is nothing to apologise for,” Hannibal was suddenly there, touching Will’s arm, “I do wonder where you go when you do that.”

Will flinched minutely, but he knew Hannibal would see it. He dropped his hand, pursing his lips. “It has been an exceptionally long day, full of old memories. You need not do anything else Will.”

“No no, it’s alright, I can manage.” Will knew he didn’t sound even remotely convincing. He moved to prepare the rest of the king’s bathing essentials, carefully averting his eyes as the other undressed. Will only turned towards the king once he was fully submerged. Will untied the end of Hannibal’s braid hanging over the edge of the bath.

“It’s been five years…” Hannibal’s voice was soft. Will said nothing, letting the man gather his thoughts without interruption. Will gently ran the small comb through Hannibal’s hair, long enough to reach past his sword belt. Nearly twenty-five years of uninterrupted growth.

“Did I ever tell you why my father went to war with Molson Verger?”

“Verger burned small villages, killed men at the border, then sent men to infiltrate your house. The king had enough, war was declared.” Will carried on brushing.

“My father was a pacifist. He would have tolerated border disputes and village sackings until he died, or until something forced his hand,” Hannibal sounded far away, no doubt falling into the same melancholy trap Will had. Will was glad he couldn’t see the king’s face, the drink served at the feast had loosened the sublime control Hannibal usually held over his emotions and expressions. Will would surely be drawn into memories not his own. “There were men sent to the castle, but they didn’t come to observe us. Did you know I once had a sister?”

Will’s hands stilled. He knew Hannibal had a sister, but he was taught that the princess died the unfortunate death of small children in exceptionally cold times.

“I found her. Her hair was red instead of yellow.” Will squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to block the intrusion of sorrow and pain and anger. He clenched his jaw, breath stuttering between his teeth. “Something finally forced my father’s hand.”

“I’m sorry.”

Will heard the splashing of water being displaced, then felt a warm, wet hand on his cheek. “Oh Will.”

Will trembled violently. Hannibal held his face in both hands until his breathing evened out enough that he opened his eyes to see two wine-dark ones staring back at him through fine strands of golden hair. Will puffed a breath, suddenly curious about what Hannibal’s lips would feel like on his own.

“Your hair’s getting wet,” Will breathed after a moment, cutting through the coils of tension wrapped around them. He dropped his gaze.

Hannibal huffed, relinquishing his hold on Will’s face, “Will you stay here tonight?”

“You ask me that every night,” why does he always ask? Doesn't he expect better company, like Lady Bloom? Or Lady Bedelia?

“And you always say no,” Hannibal sounded more amused than anything.

“What if I say yes?” Will whispered. Hannibal’s smile had teeth.

~~~~

Will dragged a blanket to the front of the fireplace. Next time he was in the mood for an impromptu sleepover, he would make sure the alcove that served as the page’s bed was clean. He was grateful that Hannibal hadn’t offered the use of his bed; Will would have walked out.

“Are you sure? I did tell you I have nightmares…”

“Sleep, Will, the dawn isn’t far off.”

Will settled in front of the coales, Hannibal in the large bed across the room. He had foregone the usual loose braid he slept with. Will would be left to deal with the tangles in the morning.

~~~~

He walked along the small stream, the body of the company of men further ahead. He could hear them despite their efforts to blend into the woods. Not all of them were adept at disguising their footfalls as more natural sounds. It didn’t matter. Molson Verger knew they were coming; no use in delaying the inevitable.

This wasn’t just a dream. This was a memory, frequently visited during consciousness now carrying a hint of dreamlike quality. But he knew it was real.

He didn’t deliberately hang back from the rest of the company, but he was glad he did.

Movement on the small rise caught his eye, and from the mist came a massive black stag, its feathered pelt appearing wet with blood. Its antlers seemed to climb to the very top of the winter-naked trees.

He had heard a story a long time ago. All he remembered was its name.

Breña.

~~~~

Will woke, gasping for breath in an unfamiliar room. He twisted in his blanket to see Hannibal, his eyes too wide for Will to have woken him.

He was not the only one with nightmares.

~~~~

Breakfast was late enough to be lunch, but was given the same meticulous attention by the king as any other meal he prepared. Will assisted as he had learned to do, mincing herbs and peeling fruit. He made to set the table, Hannibal at its head, Will on his right. Will had found it incredibly strange at first, dining with the king like an equal, but it had quickly become comfortable.

“Please set out two more places, Will,” Hannibal called from the small kitchen into the airy dining room. Guests joining the king’s table was common, but usually during stiflingly formal dinners. Breakfast was usually a more private matter. “I have invited Lady Bloom and Princess Verger to join us,” Hannibal said by way of explanation, carrying peeled fruit in a wooden bowl to place at the centre of the table. Will did not expect the king to let the difficult situation with the Verger’s to fester, but Hannibal was moving even faster than Will expected.

A soft knock, and then the door opened just enough to reveal Lady Bloom, peaking around the corner. “I hope we aren’t too early?” Her eyes crinkled with mirth.

“You are right on time Alana. Please, come in.” Hannibal swept an arm across the room as he held open the door. Alana entered with the ease that came of knowing her environment while Margot moved quietly, almost sheepishly, but thankfully not afraid. Will was glad to see Lady Bloom, her presence would at least mediate the undoubtedly delicate conversation about to take place, if not soothe it.

“Please take a seat,” Hannibal said, pulling back his own chair. Will took that as his cue, heading to the kitchen. He returned bearing three artfully decorated plates, serving first the king, and then the two ladies who had joined him on his left. Margot kept her eyes downcast as Will fetched his plate and joined the table in his usual spot. Will had no doubt that the king would be able to get through to Margot, after all he had managed to coax Will out of his shell. The question was, did he want to?

“Mister Hobbes has kindly provided the venison for this morning’s meal. Please, enjoy,” Will and Alana both dug in heartily while Margot moved with more than caution, a crease in her brow. She closed her eyes around the first bite of her venison, all worry sliding momentarily off her face. She chewed slowly, savouring. Will swallowed his own delicious morsel to remove the temptation to slip into her state of mind yet again.

“This is delicious, thank you,” Alana spoke, breaking the spell Will found himself in. He turned to see the king gazing at Margot, not nearly as entranced as Will was.

“I cannot remember the last time I had anything beside pork,” Margot spoke softly, the subtle steel in her voice similar to the king’s. It must be a royal thing, Will decides.

Hannibal dipped his head, “I am glad we could provide. Please, have as much as you would like.” Ever the gentleman, even when faced with someone he should hate. “I trust you slept well?”

“Yes, thank you. Lady Alana and Lady Bedelia have been most kind,” Margot took a sip of water, “Forgive me, but why am I here?”

“As opposed to where?” Hannibal kept his voice light, but the hidden knife in his tone did not slip past Will. He was going to have a headache after this.

“A prison? I’m sorry, but I do not understand.”

“Yes you do.” Hannibal looked at Margot pointedly. Will lowered his cutlery, focussing all his attention on the game of agendas at the table. Knowing Hannibal, the game could be stretched out into near endless subtle ploys or could be ended in one broad, brutal stroke. “I highly doubt you would have survived in your brother’s care if you were a simpleton.” Will could see Alana biting her tongue; it would be out of place for her to caution the king here.

Margot’s face morphed, the careful air of innocence replaced by a faint edge of determination. A truer face. She squared her shoulders, “What do you want of me?”

“Only what you are willing to give.” Silence reigned for a beat, then a moment, then stretched taught as the two blue bloods stared each other down. Margot dropped her gaze first, ceding victory to her host, but Hannibal recognised and pressed his advantage despite her surrender. “What do you think will happen when news of your being in my house reaches your brother? What did you hope to accomplish by banging on my door?”

Margot glared across the bowl of fruit at Hannibal.

“Perhaps you had thought to get yourself imprisoned, pushing your already volatile brother into open conflict, leading to a Verger victory. Or did you think you would be put to death here, finally ending your suffering? Maybe you would make yourself comfortable here, and then sneak into my chambers and end my life, a thief in the night.”

Margot’s glare grew venomous, but it wasn’t directed at Hannibal, rather it was aimed internally, at something Will could not see.

“What I had hoped to accomplish,” she bit out every word, “was Mason’s death. Even at the price of my own, but I am not suicidal.”

“We are in agreement then.”

Margot’s eyes went wide, her mouth falling open. Alana’s dark hair flew as she threw her gaze from Hannibal to Margot and back again. Will tried not to breathe a sigh of relief, for the brisk ending to the game (and his headache) or Margot’s reprieve from struggle, he did not know.

“You...you mean to....?” Alana tilted her head in question, frowning at the king.

Hannibal gave her a nod of acknowledgement, “Mason Verger has long been a thorn in my side, and a threat to the people. He might be volatile, but he will not risk open war without a cause. Margot’s arrival here seems an ample enough opportunity for him to garner support, and so we must prepare as well.”

Will could not help but agree with where he suspected Hannibal was taking this, “If Mason does die, your people still need a leader, or there would be in-fighting that could spill over into our country. It would benefit both our countries if the Verger on the throne was not hostile towards us,” Will spoke to the princess. Her eyes flicked between his face and Hannibal’s for a moment and then she nodded her understanding.

“Mason wouldn’t dare start something without following the proper etiquette; it would lose him support. I suspect he will send us a letter, and soon,” Hannibal seemed delighted at the notion, no doubt he expected the thinly veiled threats trapped on paper to arrive the moment Margot walked into his realm.

“Thank you for speaking up for me, last night. I don't even know who you are,” Margot briefly met Will’s eyes before he dropped them to her chin. Her shoulders lost their tense hold, not having to be en guarde for the next assault. Mason must have been terrible to her.

Will simply nodded, his tongue as useful as a lump of wood in his mouth.

“Will has always been wise and often lends his counsel,” the king answers for him. Will shoots him a grateful glance.

“Just Will?” Margot’s question is honest, no hidden agenda as so many others have when asking questions of Will.

“Just Will,” he smiles at her and hopes it doesn’t look too much like a grimace.

Alana smiles too, relieved. No doubt she had expected worse.

“Finish your breakfast,” Hannibal quips, amused.

~~~~

After breakfast, Will cleared the table and washed the dishes, leaving the three nobles to tea and discussions on land reform. Menial tasks such as these always eased his mind, those he did for Jack especially tedious. Serving Hannibal has seen these tasks grow in complexity. He tried to relish in the simplicity of rinsing plates as often as he could.

When Alana, Margot and the king finally parted ways, Will tidied up their tea set too, trying not to flush as he felt Hannibal's eyes follow him. One would think Will would be used to the king looking at him, but Will has the sneaking suspicion that the stares were growing ever more appreciative. Not that he minded. Or did he? He quickly derailed that train of thought, lest it show in an even redder flush down his face.

Will did not envy the whispers and looks following Margot down the hall, but he couldn’t help the swell of relief that the mob had found someone else to occupy its collectively shallow mind with. Will followed down the same passage shortly after, intent on helping the rest of the servants in their duty to clean after the feast. His help would be appreciated, even if others kept their distance from him; no one wanted to be working after barely sleeping and most likely hung over.

Will submerged himself in the tranquility only dish scrubbing could provide, half listening to Abigail Hobbs talk as only a girl of her age could. Will offered nods and sounds of curiosity when necessary, both of them covered up to their elbows in soapy water.

He liked Abigail. She didn’t avoid him, though her father did. Then again, Garrett-Jacob Hobbs avoided most people, preferring to spend several days at a time away from home managing the vast herds of deer roaming the king’s land. He also took to culling any surplus animals that Hannibal did not hunt himself, and processed them too. Will didn’t take the avoidance personally; the man was courteous enough when Will enquired about new deer skin rugs for the king’s chambers.

Hannibal was out hunting, as was customary after a feast. No doubt Hobbs was with him, as well as Abel Gideon, tasked with killing an animal should Hannibal only maim it. As far as Will was aware, that has never been necessary. Hannibal was a skilled hunter, though Will had never joined on a hunt nor seen one of the carcasses before its field dressing. He supposed that leaving the carcass as-is would destroy the meat over the course of the sometimes week long hunting trips. He wondered how long the king would be away for this time and if he would bring deer or boar to the table.

Will was invited to join on these trips, but had always declined. He let his mind construct what would happen should he say yes. He had said yes to sleeping in front of the king’s fireplace for crying out loud; a hunting trip wouldn’t be far different. Or maybe it would be more…intimate. Him and Hannibal sharing a sleeping mat in front of a fire, or a small tent. Maybe Gideon and Hobbs won’t be there, it would just be him and his king, alone for miles-

“Will?”

“Hmmm?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“What? Oh, sorry,” Will paused with his hands in the dishwater, frowning, not meeting Abigail’s eyes.

She carried on regardless, used to Will’s awkwardness, “I asked if you’re sick of pots yet. I’m sick of washing them.”

Will shrugged, “I’m fine. You can go if you want.”

“Are you sure?” Her concern was touching.

Will gave her a lopsided grin, meeting her eyes for a second, “I’ll be fine. I’m sure you have more fun things to do than clean up other people’s messes.”

Abigail gave him a grateful smile, swinging her hands to rid them of suds and dashing out the kitchen door, “Bye Will!”

Will couldn’t help but chuckle at her enthusiasm; it was nearly infectious. Turning back to the task at hand, he gave his imagination free reign with the hunting fantasy, never mind that he might regret it later.

~~~

After doing what he could outside of his normal duties, Will returned to tidy Hannibal’s already immaculate room. Sometimes he wishes Hannibal would just leave the bed unmade, so Will could fold the blankets.

Will set to dusting, sweeping and prodding each object into its perfect place, going so far as to rearrange the cutlery drawers in the kitchen. It was nearly midnight when Will finally relented and made to sleep, but was faced with a dilemma: where would he sleep? In his customary place behind the stables, close to the kennels? Or in front of the king’s fire again, waiting (like a dog) for Hannibal to arrive? The more Will thought of it, the more conflicted he became. Eventually he shook his head to dislodge the clamoring voices shouting opinions and grabbed a blanket. The fire was built-up anyway, it would be a waste to leave it without company.

~~~~

Will was asleep for scarcely an hour when the door opened. He turned in his blanket to squint at the heavy footfalls thumping across the floor. Will regarded the muddy boots with disdain; their owner leaving a trail of dried dirt from the door. Will thrust his gaze upwards, past dirt stained trousers and a disheveled coat, to catch a glimpse of surprise on Hannibal’s face. A moment later, the king’s expression smoothed out, infinitely charismatic. Will could still see through it.

“Will! You’re here,” Hannibal smiled, and Will returned it sleepily, sitting up. An expectant silence descended. Hannibal shifted minutely on his feet.

When his brain finally woke up, Will’s first instinct was to jump up and alleviate Hannibal’s discomfort in any way he could, but goddammit the man had basically made it his personal mission in life to make Will moderately uncomfortable. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation talking, but Will would be damned if he didn’t take this one opportunity he had the kingdom’s most unflappable man at his mercy and make something of it.

Will ran his eyes down to the king’s boots and then back up to his face, “Perhaps a bath?” and oh, his heart started beating faster at the sight of Hannibal’s lips parting, his eyes growing dark in the mild firelight.

Hannibal swallowed, “Yes, that would be kind,” he turned to look around the room, clearing his throat. No wonder Hannibal did this to him as often as he could, Will was having fun. He stood, making a show of rekindling the fire from its low-burning embers. He knew Hannibal was watching him; Will was barely clothed in a threadbare white tunic and black pants. Once the flames were sufficiently lively, Will proceeded to the bathroom. The routine of preparing the bath sobered him up.

What was he doing, playing games with the king? Hannibal could play games with him, but who was Will to return the favor?

Before Will could chastise himself further, Hannibal entered the room and started undressing. Will turned his back like he always did, giving him a modicum of privacy. If Will wasn’t listening to every rustle of fabric, every movement of limbs, he might have missed Hannibal’s minute sigh. He otherwise silently folded his clothes and climbed into the tub.

Will tried to move around the stiffness in his spine as he prepared to loosen and brush the king’s hair, dropping the comb to plink from the floor. He stared at it for a moment before picking it up. Frowning, he ran the fingers of his other hand through Hannibal’s hair. Hannibal’s hand was around Will’s wrist in the blink of an eye, pressure insistent without demanding. Will still froze.

Hannibal turned his head, pulling Will’s wrist forward ever so gently to run his nose across the vulnerable inside, breathing deep.

“You haven’t bathed yet, Will,” Will stiffened even more. Did he smell bad? How could he forget, he cleaned everything but himself! Would Hannibal send him away-

Hannibal took another deep breath of Will’s wrist and tugged hard. Unprepared, Will toppled head first into the fragrant water. He resurfaced moments later, spluttering and panting. Hannibal was grinning at him, the bastard. Evidently he decided this was the way to finish the game Will started.

Will glared at Hannibal through his soggy curls and Hannibal graduated from grinning to outright laughing. Will tried to hide his own toothy smile to no avail. There they were, two wet idiots in a tub.

Killing two birds with one stone, Will tugged his shirt off. He might as well get clean while upping the ante in this little game. Will didn’t miss the downward flicker of Hannibal’s eyes. Will smirked and shucked off his pants, slopping them over the rim of the tub to pool on the floor. He held Hannibal’s gaze throughout, watching it morph from playful to disbelieving to challenging.

He grabbed the bar of lavender soap, rubbing it between his palms, “Would you like me to wash your back?”

“No,” Hannibal said with a smirk, “Turn around.”

Will did as he was told. He would have to concede a point to keep the game going, having put Hannibal on the back foot several times already. Not that it would be a particularly weighty point now, would it? Hannibal surely wasn’t planning anything precarious now that Will’s back was turned.

Will was wrong.

As soon as Hannibal left his line of sight, a hand fisted in his hair and pulled him flush against a broad chest. Will’s breath stuttered. The bathwater waved back and forth, a humid reminder of the sudden and fierce movement Hannibal is capable of executing. The water gentled, the sudden quiet making Will uncomfortably aware of his harsh breaths. Hannibal nosed through the damp hair at the back of his head, breathing deeply. It sent goosebumps down his spine, radiating out to his fingertips and down the backs of his thighs, despite the warm water. So many sensations, Will was having difficulty focusing. The hair on Hannibal’s chest scratch deliciously at his back. The hot water sliding over his internally heated skin drives heart to beat wildly against his ribs. And then Hannibal gently nibbles on his earlobe, tilting his head back slightly and Will drops the bar of soap to thunk into the water.

“Do you want me to stop?” Will gasps at Hannibal’s low voice, spoken so close to his ear and suddenly he is uncomfortably aware of how hard he is. Will should be mad that Hannibal decided to play this particular card in his bid to win their game, but he doesn’t care. He just _wants._

Will makes a strangled sound in reply and Hannibal huffs against his ear, mouthing down the side of his neck. Will squirms and suddenly his breath is punched out of him at feeling Hannibal’s answering hardness at his lower back. Will twists out of Hannibal’s grasp to crash their lips together and it is glorious. Will claws at his shoulders, Hannibal gently cups his face. Hannibal’s lips are soft and yielding, but his teeth, oh, his teeth. They nip and peck at Will and suddenly he wants to stick his finger in Hannibal’s mouth to test their sharp points.

Will breaks the kiss and pulls back to get a full view of the man underneath him. Hannibal’s eyes blown black, his lips red and glistening, his expression so profoundly open. Despite this, Will can’t ignore the juxtaposition of servant and king.

Hannibal notices the hesitance, “My dear Will, you only have to ask, and I will stop. I do not wish to force anything on you.”

“No,” Will kisses him, then kisses him again, “don’t stop.” This was the culmination of two years worth of back and forth teasing, if Hannibal was game, Will wasn’t going to say no.

Keeping their eyes locked, Hannibal slides his hands down Will’s back. He yanks Will closer by the knees, settling them close enough that every breath mingles. He touches Will’s cheek reverently, almost as though he doesn’t believe this to be real. Will can relate, not daring to make a sound, lest he shatter this illusion and be thrust back into reality.

Hannibal breaks the moment, only to elevate it to something so much more by wrapping a hand around both of them. Will lets out a strangled breath, his nails digging into Hannibal’s shoulders. He falls against the man when Hannibal starts to pump his hand, attempting to smother the tortured little sounds coming from his throat.

“No, no, no, my dear, I want to hear you,” Hannibal threads his hand through Will’s hair to tip his head backwards. “Look at me.”

Will does, sees pleasure etched into every line of his face, his pupils pulling Will in and he is Hannibal he is Will he is spiraling ever upwards, pressure and pleasure building impossibly high.

“Oh, fuck, Hannibal!” Will comes with a shout, Hannibal following him seconds later with a hiss.

Will slumps forward. He could fall asleep right here in the bath.

####

A letter arrives the next morning, shattering the illusion of peace Hannibal and Will woke up to. Neither of them had had any nightmares, and waking together, still naked, had been a welcome surprise. One Hannibal had been sure to take advantage of.

But now Hannibal had to push the delicious sounds Will made to the back of his mind. The letter was not from Mason, but from his own troops. The wax seal was done with haste, the address was barely legible and the messenger was exhausted from riding through the night, uttering a simple “there's been an attack,” as he passed the letter over to Anthony.

Hannibal might have underestimated Mason's viciousness. A miscalculation. He would have to respond appropriately.

He opens the letter, not bothering to summon the members of his council. Those windbags would debate the merits and demerits of opening the letter for hours. And besides, Hannibal was king. He would make the final decision regardless.

The letter was brief and slightly panicked, the author polite and to the point. It included numerical figures on how many men were injured, how many were killed and a small sketch of the attacker’s insignia: a dancing pig.

Reading it again, Hannibal let his anger build and manifest outward, his mouth twisting downward. How dare Mason.

He looked up into Anthony's worried face, “Get the men. I’m going to the border.”

“Are you sure that's wise?”

“Wise? Probably not. But Mason Verger seeks to anger me and he has succeeded,” Hannibal turned to observe the throne room, servants bustling in and out, and thinks of how quiet their footsteps used to be. The war had suppressed every spark of happiness people were capable of, and now that they were free, they moved with suck careless ignorance. “I would not see another years-long conflict. We are going to the border. And we are going to end this before it even starts.”

Anthony nods and scampers off to spread the message to the king's men.

Hannibal sighs and returns to his chambers. Having to part from Will so soon after...that finally happened, was not going to be easy.

~~~~

“You're leaving?” Will's voice was small, but not small enough to hide the inflection of betrayal. Hannibal flinched.

“I wish I could take you with me, but-”

“I'm not some damsel in distress,” Will snapped. He took a breath, “I'm sorry.”

Hannibal cupped Will’s face, looking into his shimmering blue eyes, “I know, and I must confess that my reasons for keeping you here are motivated partly out of selfishness.” Hannibal gives him a gentle kiss, brushing their lips past each other. Will drops his tense shoulders.

“And the other reasons?” he whispers in the small space between them.

“I need someone here that I can trust. There have always been spies and liars in the court, Will, and now that Margot is here, they will undoubtedly seek to push their own agenda.”

Will had the most adorable little crease in his brow when he frowned, “And you want me to spy for you?”

“If that is what you would like to call it, yes. I would feel more assured having someone here who knows how I think. You needn't do it if you don't want to.”

“No, no, I understand. I'll try my best,” Will looks up with such optimism, Hannibal can't help but to kiss him. He deepens the kiss, running his tongue over Will’s bottom lip and then biting it. Will moans into his mouth and Hannibal pushes him against the door, devouring his mouth.  
  
Will whines as Hannibal pushes his thigh between his legs, grinding up.

Will broke the kiss, panting, “You can't keep distracting me like this.”

Hannibal grins, ”It's working, isn't it?” and kisses him again, but Will seemed reluctant in returning his affection. “Will, what's troubling you?”

His curls bounced as he shook his head, “Nothing, don't worry.”

“Will,” Hannibal tilted Will's chin up so he met his eyes, “You don't have to hide. Not from me.”

“It's just,” Will blew air out his nose, closing his eyes, “I can't help feeling like...I'm not needed, because you're leaving me here.”

“Will, Will,” Hannibal peppered his face with kisses, “I don't want you out there with me because it's dangerous. I don't want anything happening to you. I...I don't know what I'll do if you get hurt.” He whispers the last part, so unused to the swell of emotion that accompanied it.

Will nodded, his arms tightening around Hannibal’s waist. He tucked his head under Hannibal's chin, his beard gently scratching at the soft skin there. “Come back in one piece, okay?”

“Yes, dear,” Hannibal smiled.

They embraced one another for a long moment, then Hannibal reluctantly untangled himself. He gave Will a tender kiss and slipped from his fingers towards the door.

“Oh, Will?”

“Hmm, yes?”

“I hope to find my sheets smelling of you when I return,” he winked at Will's starstruck face and started down the hall.

~~~~

Will couldn't find it in himself to be mad at Hannibal for leaving him alone with his raging erection. He took longer than he'd ever admit to calm down, even after trying to distract himself with reciting the Wheel of the Year.

He should feel happy, shouldn't he? Or at least content. All he felt was a gnawing pit at the center of his stomach. It wasn't doubt; that he had plenty of experience with. This was empty, aching and lonely. Waiting for any news of Hannibal was going to be agonizing.

~~~~

Will sorted the letters addressed to the king and his council into two piles, those that had to be dealt with immediately and those that could wait for the king to return. He would open them gently, never tearing an envelope, to read them with Hannibal's voice echoing in his mind. Oh gods, he has it bad.

What if Hannibal doesn't feel the same? What if Will is only a fling to him, entertainment to pass the time till a better conquest arrives?

Will shakes his head, irritated at the little voice gnawing at the little bit of contentment he managed to gather around him. Hannibal had given no indication that Will was only a passing fancy. It must be the angry empty pit in his stomach talking. It's been plaguing him for days.

Will was abruptly pulled from his musings by one of the letters. He recognized Jack’s chicken scratch immediately, the individual letters lengthened up and slanted forwards as Jack was wont to do when he was agitated.

Apprehension mounted as he read. Several young girls had gone missing from the city of Chesapeake and its surrounding area in the last few months, this Will knew; Jack kept the king very well versed on the criminal comings and goings in the capital. What set this letter apart from the others was it's announcement that one of the girls had been found, dead, tucked back into her own bed.

Will didn't have to read Jack's thinly veiled (threat) request for the king's (Will’s) assistance to know that he was spinning in circles with this.

He finished his sorting quickly and headed into town.

~~~~

Will shivered through Mr and Mrs Nichols’s sticky grief in the doorway to Elise’s room. Jack at least hadn't let anyone touch the body after it had been found.

She lay on her back, eyes closed, arms to the side and covered in her quilt. It was almost...tender, the way her hair flowed over the white pillow. Everything about her return was done intentionally, right down to the white dress she wore.

Will took a deep breath, closed his eyes and dove headfirst.

_I am so sorry._

__

__

Please forgive me.

This is the only thing I can do for you now, precious.

_I am so sorry._

Will snapped back, reeling.

“So?” Jack huffed.

“He feels...remorse.” Will choked.

“What?”

“Jack, this is…this is an apology. Whatever he's done to the others, he couldn't do to her.”

Jack didn't sound convinced, “So he's a murderer who feels bad for murdering.”

“Yes, I...I suppose,” Jack could be so unbelievable blunt, “Any other wounds?”

“Several small round ones, and one long one,” a woman spoke behind Will.

“This is Beverly. Beverly, this is Will,” Jack gestured between them.

Will turned to spy the woman, neatly dressed in men's clothing, “They look like a pattern. Here, I have a sketch.” She handed him a thick piece of paper with an outline of a human body, the wounds depicted as dots all across the body and one long stripe along its midline.

“May I keep this?” he asked, focusing on Beverly’s chin instead of her face.

“If you feel it will be helpful,” she didn't sound condescending at all. Will thought he might grow to like her.

~~~~

Will spied Abigail through the throng of court attendees in the main hall, and waved to her. She lifted her hand to return his wave when a hand wrapped around her throat, pulling her backwards.

Will gave a shout when he saw the knife blink against her pale skin. The crowd parted to reveal Garrett-Jacob Hobbs holding a dagger to his own daughters thought. _Oh._

He whispered to his daughter, her lip trembling. The room fell into horrified silence. Will crept forward, not wanting to spook the man so absolutely dedicated to his daughter. _I understand now._

The wounds on Elise Nichols were from deer antlers. Seven hells, the man had mounted her on them like a piece of meat to _bleed her._

Hobbs met his eyes, and Will reacted. The man flew back, spewing blood from the edge of his knife.

Abigail collapsed. Will rushed to her. _My daughter, my daughter, I won't let you go._

Sharp pain to the back of his head, and he was dragged away from his daughter as she lay in her own blood.

~~~~

Frederick dropped the heavy metal mace next to the bleeding girl, Will falling like a sack of potatoes. Lucky for him, the king's decorations weren't just decorations; whole suits of armor, sharp swords and battle axes adorned the castle walls. It was lucky he could grab one and subdue the little freak before he hurt more people.

Oh, he was going to get so much recognition for this! Snagging a magic user, and one right under Hannibal's very nose!

“Guards!” he called over his shoulder, “take this one down to my infirmary.”

Frederick was going to have so much fun with this one.

~~~~

Hannibal was having an absolutely terrible day. Only seeing Will could equilibrate his mood, but he didn't come to greet Hannibal when he finally returned home.

Hannibal made his excuses from the throng of nobles come to greet him instead, citing fatigue and a war council to attend, to search for Will in his private quarters.

Will was nowhere to be found, not the kitchen, not the library, Hannibal even checked the dog kennels.

His seemingly aimless wandering about brought him across Frederick Chilton preening in a hallway.

“You seem rather agitated my king, I take it the negotiations turned sour?”

“One could say that,” Hannibal said airily, “But right now I am looking for Will. Have you seen him?”

“Oh, Will! Yes, he's been arrested I'm afraid.”

Hannibal stared. ”Whatever for?”

“He killed Mister Hobbs. Mister Hobbs tried to kill his own daughter so it would have been justified, but he used magic, can you believe it?” Frederick gave a bright smile, “So I had him interred. He would be fascinating to study..”

Hannibal straightened up, ”Where?” he grit out.

“The dungeon, of course.”

~~~~

Hannibal hid a small book in the back of the top drawer of his dresser, one he preferred to read in private, studying each page carefully. Now, as Will lay prostrate with fever in the king's own bed, he took it out again. His hands shook with residual anger, having almost decapitated Frederick with his bare hands when he first saw Will chained up. He let his fingers run over the familiar inscription in the leather cover.

Breña.

The book was an incomplete manual on a creature that had haunted the country long before Hannibal’s line existed. It gave a brief description of a large black, feathered stag capable of killing men as easily as it could heal them. It had suggestions on how to catch one, each new idea even more outlandish than the next. Regardless, Hannibal has tried each one, to no avail. The first and last time he saw the Breña, he was a young boy marching to war.

He never thought he'd find one, and now here it lay. Hannibal could count on one hand the situations in which he had no idea what to do. This was turning out to be the worst one he has ever been in.

Hannibal had once hoped to find this legendary creature and use it as a weapon against his enemies.

But Will wasn't an instrument. He was Hannibal's friend, and now he meant more to Hannibal than he ever could imagine another person would.

And yet, finding what he thought he would never find...he just wished it wasn't someone he cared about, someone he would hesitate to exploit.

He paged through the book, keeping a watchful eye on Will. He needs to know as much as possible about his lover in order to heal him.

Will whimpered in his sleep, tossing his head.

“Hush, my dear. I'm going to take care of you,” Hannibal smoothed his damp curls and placed a kiss on his sweaty forehead.

~~~~

The last thing Will remembered was the cold. Cold stone beneath his back, cold steel around his neck. This new heat was cloying. Will kicked feebly at the blankets covering him, rolling his head back and forth along a too-soft pillow. He heard fabric tear.

Will sat up abruptly, feeling among his curls for -oh no- two small, hard buds growing from his crown. He pulled his hand back and -oh no, no!- his fingertips were black.

“Will! You’re awake,” Hannibal came closer to the bed to sit on its edge, “you’ve had a fever for several days. How do you feel?”

Will opened his mouth but no sound came past the sudden stricture in his throat. His head pounded. Will’s worst nightmare has just come true. How, he couldn’t say. As far as he knew, all the meat he ate was animal, especially since he had started helping the king prepare meals from his own hunts.

Unless-

“Will?”

Will looked up at Hannibal, a frown marring his beautiful brow.

“What have you done to me?” Will’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Besides worry myself sick about you, nothi-”

“What have you been feeding me?” his voice was low, full of venom. The sickly feeling he woke up with doubled in its intensity.

Hannibal’s face smoothed over, the way it always did when the king wished to contemplate an emotion before he let it out into the world, but even then he couldn’t hide the small spark of realization, of elation from Will.

“You bastard. You hoped this would happen.” And didn’t that hurt.

“Will, I had no idea-”

Will ripped his hand away from Hannibal, moving to get out of the bed, “Don't fucking touch me!”

Hannibal stilled his movements towards Will, his hands in his lap. He at least looked somewhat guilty. Will stumbled away from him, not letting the king leave his line of sight as he shrugged a shirt over his shoulders to stave off the sudden chill on his fevered skin. He shoved his feet into his boots by the door, glaring at Hannibal all the way.

“Will, please, we can talk about this-”

“I will not be the thing you send out there to spill blood. Not even to save my own goddamn people. There is _nothing_ I can do to make people stop hating me apart from denying my own nature, but now you’ve taken that away from me. And for what? So I can win battles for you?” Will was practically shouting, “I trusted you! And now I've also killed a man!”

Hannibal remained quiet, his body held even more rigid than before.

Will turned to open the door, Hannibal suddenly there with a hand on his shoulder. Will twisted around, surprising himself with his speed, but also surprising Hannibal. Will had him pinned to the door, a hand on the back of his neck while the other twisted the king’s arm painfully.

Both breathed hard, not saying a word.

“If you truly wish to leave, then leave.”

“You won’t command me to stay?” Will filled his voice to the brim with mockery. Hannibal had never commanded Will to do anything, and if he decided to start now, Will wouldn’t listen.

“As I told you before, I would not command an equal, dear Will.”

That made Will pause, only for a moment. Hannibal won’t command him, but that wouldn’t stop him from coming after Will.

Will tightened his grip on Hannibal’s head, fisting his hand through the soft golden strands, then tipped the king’s head back.- “Don’t try to find me”- and slammed Hannibal’s head against the door.

Will ran.

~~~~

“You asked to see me?”

“Yes, Jack, please come in,” the king sounded fatigued. Jack couldn't blame him.

“I'm hazarding a guess that this is about Will? I heard about his arrest, I tried to get him out,” Jack joined Hannibal in front of the fire.

“Yes, yes I know. Thank you, Jack.” Hannibal dragged a hand down his face and remained silent. The long threat of another war was stressful enough already, and his own servants arrest surely wasn't making it any easier.

Hannibal was acting odd, Jack knew him well enough to see he was agitated. “Has something happened?” Jack hoped fervently that Will was alright. If the boy was hurt-

“I'm afraid so,” Jack didn't like Hannibal's tone of voice. The king never sounded defeated before. “Will used magic to kill Garrett-Jacob Hobbs. He saved Abigail.”

“Mr Hobbs was killing young girls. Surely that would count in Will's favor, despite what he’s done?”

Hannibal handed Jack a small brown book, well worn leather hiding yellowed paper. He recognized the title of the book, and his heart sank.

Jack sat down in a leather armchair, eyeing the little book.

“Will was sick, I suspected the prolonged exposure to the cold in the dungeon was to blame, but then…”

“Then he grew antlers,” Jack finished for him,” Yes, I know what Will is. I knew when I took him in and I knew when I introduced him to you. Will promised me he had it under control, that it would never be a problem.”

Hannibal gazed at the flickering light of the fire for a long moment. “Will is my friend,” he said softly.

“Even though he’s not human?” Jack watched the king’s back.

“It didn’t make a difference before, why should it now?”

Jack nodded. If the king didn't hate him, Will stood a chance.

“Will knows that I know. He's disappeared Jack, I need to find him,” Hannibal turned and sat opposite Jack, eyes pleading.

“To do what with him?” Jack was not about to spill Will's every secret to Hannibal, despite him claiming friendship with the young man. Jack knew many people would like to influence and use Will; the king was not above seeking more power.

“To find him. And make sure he's safe,” Hannibal sounded sincere, but Jack had to be sure.

“And if he doesn't want to be found?”

“Then I will leave him be. Jack, _please_ ,” Jack knew this was as close as Hannibal came to begging.

“Alright,” Jack huffed, “He might have gone home.”

“Where is home for Will, Jack?” The soft way Hannibal spoke the boy’s name brought a sudden realization to Jack's mind. Hannibal cared deeply for him, perhaps even loved him.

Jack cleared his throat, rubbing his hands over the book, “Will’s last name is Graham. His father was Beau Graham, Lord of Lakes. Their estate was abandoned after...well, I would say murder, but it was just labeled as another war casualty. The Verger’s poisoned him.”

“Thank you for telling me, Jack.”

“I made a promise, Hannibal, to a dying man. To look after his son. If you intend to use him-”

“I appreciate your concern, Jack, but I would never force Will to do anything he doesn’t want to.”

“Be that as it may, I'll still keep an eye on you two.”

“I am glad to see someone cares for him,” Hannibal have a faint smile.

“How could I not?” Jack shrugged, “I’ve been keeping him out of trouble since he was 12.”

~~~~

Hannibal snuck his horse out of its stable and rode north. He arrived at an expansive lake after nightfall, his horse exhausted. He took in the grounds of Wolf Trap from afar, measuring each landmark against what he knew of Will the man, and of Will the stag, which wasn't much. Oh gods, how could he know so little about Will? _Stupid and selfish, Hannibal, you idiot._

The estate was built atop a hill overlooking the lake and its surrounding forest. He left his stallion to rest in the old stables, the roof long since gone, to search the dilapidated buildings.

The moon slowly rose, illuminating the old masonry in silver. Hannibal found no sight of Will in the ruins.

He stood in an old balcony garden, his heart sinking lower than his boots. He so desperately wanted to find Will, make sure he's all right. The worry made him pace up and down the weed-lined wall overlooking the lake.

There. The woods. _Hannibal, you absolute fool!_

He raced down the incline, nearly falling in his haste. He dashed through the tree line, frantically searching.

He cupped his hands around his mouth, “Will!” he hurried deeper into the forest, his eyes mistaking deep shadows for Will’s silhouette. “Will!”

He started, his shouting disturbing a flock of ravens bedded down for the night in a small bush. Despair snared it's tendrils around his chest as he watched them flap into the dark.

But there! Something else moved, he was sure of it! Hope pressed him to hurry while uncertainty cautioned him. What if it was just one of the night animals? He doesn’t think his heart can withstand a nocturnal beast bolting away, being unsettled enough already. The ups and downs of emotion he has felt in the last few hours were worse than the bucking festival ponies-

Hannibal found himself pinned to a tree, his own sword drawn from its scabbard and held across his throat.

“I told you not to try and find me,” Will hissed, pressing close. Hannibal sagged. Will was _here_. He's here.

For a long moment neither of them spoke. Hannibal was pinned by Will's gaze, sharper and harder than he's ever experienced it. Will was nearly translucent in the faint moonlight, his antlers now standing a hands breadth above his wild curls. Hannibal had never seen anything so beautiful.

“You’re alive.”

Will paused, his lips parted slightly. His face betrayed the many thoughts he warred with, not knowing which to articulate. He settled for a rather safe observation, “What happened to your hair, Hannibal?”

“We are at war, my dear. I gifted my hair to Mason Verger so he knows his enemy is slow to anger.”

Will fisted his other hand tighter in Hannibal's shirt, “Are you here to make me fight?”

“No. Never.” Hannibal could pinpoint the exact moment Will's thoughts turned inward, making him vulnerable to distraction.

Hannibal, ever the opportunist, spun Will around to plant him against the tree. Will had the strength of ten men thanks to his magical heritage, but he chose not to use it, sagging instead against the tree. His grip on the sword at Hannibal's throat never lessened however.

“What do you want?” He sounded so small, so wounded, like Hannibal had the sword instead at his throat.

“This isn't about me, Will. This is about you. If you want me to leave you here and never see you again, I will do so. I would gladly forsake the throne if I could keep you by my side, but only if you ask me,” Will dropped his eyes, swallowing harshly, “Will, what do you desire?”

Will closed his eyes, a faint tremor running up his body. His breathing sped up, “Why? Why do you care?” he whispered.

“Don't you already know?” Hannibal spoke gently, filling his voice with the very thing Will thought he was so unworthy of. “What do you desire, my dear Will?”

Will's eyes flashed up, his hands shaking. At once his resolve solidified and he dropped the sword between them. He twisted his hands in Hannibal's now shortened hair and pulled him down to crush their lips together. It was brutal, it was bloody, it was perfect. Will bit at his lips like a man starved.

Will hooked a leg behind Hannibal's own, pulling them both to fall in a heap. Hannibal tried turning upright only to be bodily shoved back down. Will nipped sharply along his jaw and down his neck.

“Will,” Hannibal was slightly dazed, his heart beating impossibly faster as Will started unbuttoning his shirt, “Will, are you sure about this?” Hannibal took the younger man's hands in his own.

“What? Godammit Hannibal, don't tell me you're having second thoughts,” Will peered down at him from where he straddled Hannibal's thighs.

“I would let you fuck me in front of an entire ballroom full of nobles if only to have the pleasure of your touch.”

Will's blue eyes grew impossibly darker, “Fuck, Hannibal,” he took a deep breath, “Would you settle for a romp in the woods instead?”

Hannibal could only nod, and Will furiously unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. He nearly ripped Hannibal's belt of in his haste.

“Take off your boots you prim bastard,” he growled, pulling his own threadbare shirt over his head.

Hannibal chuckled, doing as he's been told. He shuffled his coat open underneath himself to protect his back from the underbrush. Will gave him an exasperated smile as he unfastened his own trousers.

Hannibal grabbed Will's hand as he bent down, bringing the blackened fingers up to his face. He looked at Will questioningly.

Will averted his eyes nervously, “It's uhm, I'm still learning to control it. I'm sorry,” he tried to pull his hand away. Hannibal held tight, giving Will a piercing gaze as he brought Will's fingers to his mouth and parted his lips

Will's eyes fixed on the action of Hannibal's mouth, stretching slowly to lave his tongue along the length of Will's index and middle fingers. Hannibal closed his eyes, momentarily lost in the sensation of taking Will so far back into his mouth.

Will choked off a harsh sound, “Oh, Hannibal, seven hells.”

Hannibal opened his eyes in slits to see Will totally enraptured by his performance. Will met his eyes and bent forward to whisper in his ear, “You're mine, do you understand? Mason Verger can't have you.”

Hannibal's arousal climbed at the words, overwhelming every other sensation. He bit down on the second to last joint of Will's fingers.

Suddenly Hannibal found himself with his legs spread wide, Will's saliva coated fingers pressing at his entrance. Will kept their eyes locked as he pressed in with one finger. He wiggled it around slightly and added another. He pumped his hand a few times, mindful of the slightly pinched expression on Hannibal's face. Before long he added a third finger.

Will pulled his hand out and pulled Hannibal closer by the hips. He lined himself up and bent closer to Hannibal's face.

“I am going to take this curse you've awoken in me and I am going to eat Mason Verger’s heart,” he pressed in harshly.

Hannibal was in ecstasy.

~~~~

Will collapsed next to Hannibal, his own seed spread over his stomach. They were both covered in sweat and panting.

“We have a lot to talk about,” he said, gazing up through the branches at the spots of star studded sky.

“We do.”

“Who were they? The people you were feeding to me.”

“How do you know what I'm feeding you isn't what I said it was?”

Will turned his head with a frown, “Come on Hannibal, nothing brings out the demon stag curse better than long pig. How did you know it would work anyway?”

“I didn't,” Hannibal curled an arm around Will's shoulders and pulled him close, “To be entirely honest, if I hadn't seen your father when I was a young boy, I never would have believed the stories. And it's not a curse Will, it is quite a beautiful gift. You saved Abigail with it.”

Will sighed, “That's easy for you to say, you don't have to eat people for the rest of your life or risk starving to death. That's how my father died. Molson Verger was a clever pig, poisoning his own men and then sending them across my father's path.”

Hannibal tightened his arms around Will, “I am sorry Will,” he paused, both of them sobered slightly by the topic of loss. “They weren't worthy of the terrible lives they lead, the men I kill. Thieves, rapists, murderers. Many were glad to see them gone.”

“It's not my place to judge,” Hannibal could feel rather than see Will's frown.

“No, that's mine. I am the king after all.”

Will snorted, shoving at Hannibal, “Did Abel help you?”

“Yes. He had quite the knack for it.”

“Will you kill him too?” Will asked almost shyly.

“Only if you eat him.”

“Hannibal, I'm probably going to eat you too.”

“I wouldn't have it any other way my dear,” Hannibal smiled,”I know this is terribly selfish of me to ask, but am I forgiven?”

Will sat up, narrowing his eyes playfully at Hannibal, “No, not yet.”

~~~~

Several days later:

The ravenstag was beautiful, savage and entirely his. He glistened blue-black in the moonlight, Hannibal perched atop his back. They stood overlooking Muskrat castle, their prey blissfully unaware within.

“Are you hungry my love?”

Will tossed his magnificent head, his antlers towering upwards.

“Let's go catch a pig.”


End file.
